The writer gets her groove back

*the opening paragraph to my story. tell me: does this opening compel you to read more?*

Her glittery gold heels dangled over the side of the balcony, legs crossed at the ankle, the anchor tattoo still healing after being etched into her skin only two hours prior. The concrete felt cool under her thighs, her glittery gold sequined party dress riding up higher each time she fidgeted or uncrossed and re-crossed her ankles, forcing her to constantly fix it. Her black satin clutch sat next to her, the beeping of the cellphone indicating that she had a message waiting for her muffled by the tissue and crumpled bills and makeup and keys surrounding it. The late night traffic of Lake Shore Drive started to become more sporadic as the hours went on but there was always traffic. Cars and taxis zipped along much faster than the posted speed limit, oblivious to the dark, mysterious waters of Lake Michigan, with the flashing red light of the buoys reminding people of the lake’s presence. Scarlet remained transfixed by that flashing red light as she took another pull from her Marlboro menthol. This was more than just a cigarette break for her; this was a way to avoid Paul, whom she was told wasn’t even supposed to be at the party but had miraculously showed up anyway. She knew she couldn’t avoid him forever and, since it was her fault that they ended so horribly, she should at least own up to it and face him. But she wasn’t prepared. Not yet.

Hair!

I am a woman of particular tastes. No, not particular. Peculiar. There we go. I find beautiful things in and about everyone. My boyfriend in the 8th grade had full lips-soup coolers, to my friends-and dark circles under his eyes but I adored the mess out of him. So much so that I actually pursued him since the 5th grade before he finally came to his senses in the 8th grade.

But this isn't going to be an ex-boyfriend tell-all. I can't afford the lawsuits.

The latest source of my affection goes toward the intelligent, informative Dr. Sanjay Gupta and his amazing head of hair. I first laid eyes on his amazing hair follicles while perusing Anderson Cooper's website (another extremely beautiful man...he gets a post later). Dr. Gupta was discussing something or another but all I could concentrate on was his head. Something was drawing me in and I couldn't figure out what it was. My eyes then shifted to his hair, which was perfectly sculpted and shiny and just looked...so...silky. I thought to myself, "his hair looks sooooo nice." Then I said to Halbastram, "Come look at Dr. Gupta's hair. Doesn't it look amazing??"

Halbastram rolled his eyes. "My hair looks better."

I mentioned that I'd like to put the shoe on the other foot and ask to touch his hair. This is a reference to all of the people I encountered in college who, when I had a blowout afro, wanted to touch my hair. What they thought it might feel like, I have no clue. But I indulged them. My biggest hair fan was my freshman year roommate. She was always the first to see the afro and as a result always got first dibs on touching it. I never complained, since she always had a cheese platter readily available in the mini fridge, courtesy of her parents back in Wisconsin.

So I want to know what it's like to touch someone's hair. What's the sensation like? I imagine that touching Dr. Gupta's hair is like putting on a warm shirt right out of the dryer.

Or maybe it just feels like hair.

Either way, I very much find his hair nice to look at and hope that he keeps up the good work.